I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
I listen to the universe without a hint of defiance
I listen carefully and with intention
to understand my next blessing
and the message is, continue to be vulnerable
with the world
you’re leaving a blueprint for the next one
keep leaning into your craziest and most authentic self
there’s someone somewhere who’s paying attention
and may be falling in love with you one poem at a time
but too scared to make a confession
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
me and my ex drive towards the moon in silence
accepting we were always meant to be friends
no longer harboring resentment about our failed story of romance
Focusing on the long road ahead of us
Divorced and raising kids in a world full of oxymorons,
in a world that will try to make them fit
into unrealistic expectations of what it means to be human
me and my ex drive towards the moon in silence
putting away our differences and any conflicts
And putting our childrens’ best interest first
understanding they’re the best thing
to come out of the failure of us
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
my culture is not up for appropriation, my culture is not up for colonizers to profit off from it
I can hear my ancestors cursing in their graves
haunting white people in their dreams over the atrocity they’re committing
it’s blasphemous to use their most sacred ceremony for the business of “healing”
why must white people in 2023 continue to steal from the indigenous community?
it’s the same white people who forced assimilation on us
the same white people who made us give up our religion and traditions
the same white people who shamed us for our indigenous traits
and the reason I don’t know how to speak quechua today
why can’t the white man stay in his lane instead of trying to profit from our culture
and the insecurities of others
how is it possible that in this day and age
these so called enlightened and elitist whites are still fucking over the indigenous community?
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
silence is no longer an option
if I continue to do so, I’d be suffocating the part of me
who needs to be heard in order to heal
I’d be failing myself, my ancestors, and future generations
silence is no longer an option
to do so is an act of violence against the writer and poet in me
whose purpose is tell my story, my truth
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
abandonment wounds run deep in my bloodline
I’ve lost count of how many woman in my family
whose lovers absconded, who’s lovers left them
for their own version of Heather-
maybe this explains my epic overreaction every time a lover absconded
their departure triggers trauma in my DNA
from the abandoned women ancestors before me
I wrote this poem in December of 2023.
in my island of solitude, I drift further
and further away from romantic love
when I’ve tried to invite others to my island
they always left, and it drove me into hysterics
making a catastrophic emotional mess of me
so now I float alone on my island of solitude
and have erected walls of strength and confidence around it
I will not allow another soul to break them down
only to later leave on a whim, leaving me in pieces once again
I wrote this poem in November of 2023.
abuela Gaby sends me hints that she wants her story to be told
but I can barely remember her
she tells me to still try with the bits I have
I ask her for patience
I want to get it right, I want to do her story justice
she tells me, “hemos vivido vidas paralelas”
las palabras te vendrán fácilmente pronto”
and adds, “es como vas a sanar, es como
empiezas a entenderte”
and I don’t understand what it means,
I don’t understand her interest in me now
and how I became a messenger of her story,
“ni siquiera pensé que me querías Abuela,
you always pulled my hair”
and she replies,
“es que era duro ver nacer y crecer a alguien
que se parecía tanto a mi, me traía
demasiados sentimientos encontrados,
porque sabía que tu espiritu seria
difícil de dominar”
and while I try my best to comprehend
what she tells me –
it’s hard to wrap my head around her message
and all of the conflicting stories about her
from my family
so I’m going to make it a point
to find out her story through her letters
and pictures-
abuela, I want to do your story justice
I can’t rush through this
yours is one of the most important stories
I’ll share in my lifetime
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
my craving for love has brought me to celestial heights of heaven
and the rock bottom of hell
at 40,I finally learned I suffered from the worst affliction
–a love addiction–
and time after time it tore me down
something had to change, something had to give
or else I’d end up jumping off a cliff
so I gave up love for a while
Until I could understand why it made me crazy
Until I knew how to not make myself a victim
in every single one of my love stories
I wrote this poem in November of 2023.
I had to give up a lot of fun things in my life
to get to integration
an alcohol dependency, a shopping addiction,
Relationships and sex-
and the last thing was energy drinks
This was all for me to become the mom my kids
always deserved
it was needed for me to meet my higher self
who makes decisions with compassion and love
Instead of out of ego
It was needed for me to start living
in the most authentic way possible
and while I could dwell on all
of the fun things I lost
I now look at it as a blessing needed for clarity
and to make space for this new version of me
who no longer hides her jagged edges
for the comfort of others
Who loves who she is and no longer
Wants to be anyone else
Who finds peace in solitude
and is no longer scared of it
my integration of self costs me many things
I was addicted to
but it was worth it for the woman I am today
for the beautiful life I’m currently living
I wrote this poem in November of 2023.
google makes collages of how I’ve compartmentalize my life
throughout the years-
next to a pic of me and my ex is a pic of me and my son
then a pic of me and my friend
for a long time these realities
couldn’t exist in one frame-
it was blasphemous in my mind
for one reality to bleed into another
I never understood how this was killing my sense of identity
and inner emotional stability
That old version of me wanted everything
kids, love, sex, fun, drugs, and alcohol
to be many different people at the same time
mother, vixen, friend, basket case
and everything in between
to be accepted, to loved
and all of this compartmentalization
lead to the worst inner chaos and turmoil
It was emotional torture
I couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge
until one day I had a mental breakdown
because of it
I wrote this poem in November of 2023.
with solitude comes clarity and peace of mind
I no longer rely on the actions of words of others
to validate my existence
I no longer feel like less of a person
because of the whims of others
with solitude comes an understanding
that being alone is the best way for me
to succeed in my recovery journey
because any extra energy derails me
from the woman of worth I’m becoming
I wrote this poem in November of 2020.
Releasing my fears
of the unknowns
and the what ifs
to fulfill my life’s purpose
is a challenging
I refuse to lie down
in a defeatist mode
in comfortable mediocrity
stagnant in a suburban reality
So I release my fears
to truly reach my potential
to prove to others
they were wrong
but mostly to prove
to myself that I was wrong
and I’m worthy
and I’m enough
I wrote this poem in November of 2023.
I close and open my heart at my moods and hormones’ convenience
on a tightrope of vulnerability where I tend to fall off from
and I have a tendency to blame 80s and 90s music and movies
that taught me that if you’re good enough, if you’re pretty enough
the right guy will fall for you and you’ll get your happy ending
I wrote this poem in November of 2023.
my exes are scared of me for good reason
too many times I’ve used their words,
even their emails as ammunition
in expressing myself in poetry
sometimes, it was for revenge
Many times, it was me just trying to heal
but I did warn most of them
–I’m a writer–and I’m crazy
they probably thought
“Oh how cute, a girl who writes a few verses”
they never understood how my wrath
showed up in my writing
until they leave and finally understand
they should have heeded my warning
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.
out of all of the silly phases I went through
I think you’re my favorite
with you I learned to embrace the darkness within
without flinching
with you I felt a universe of pleasure
with you I never had to tone down any part of myself
with you I could truly be myself
no matter how crazy or fucked up that was
Life on the BPD 